Darkest Before Dawn
by fire mystic
Summary: Post Kapitel, recent events come into sharp focus for Aya and Yohji has his own inner struggle to deal with. AyaxYohji. Rated M for mature and erotic content.


_Timeline: Post Kapitel, pre-OVA_

_Rating: M_

_Warnings: Mature content, complete emotional purging, erotic content, yaoi_

_Disclamer: I neither own nor profit from Weiss Kreuz or their characters, though I would adopt them in a heartbeat._

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_I admit it. I'm obsessed with these two. I hope I did justice conveying everything I envisioned in this story. Reviews are always welcome._

Enjoy.

_fire mystic_

Darkest Before the Dawn

Aya was sleeping, propped up on the couch. Finally.

Yohji noted the tired circles under the man's eyes. God, what a stubborn bastard he was. Weak and injured, barely alive, he had fought every moment of rest and healing since that God forsaken building had sunk into the sea. Granted, Aya hadn't received the worst of it; he had managed to drag himself to shore somehow, but was totally useless after that. Yohji had been lucky to get Ken and Omi out of the water, and then worried for days that Ken might not make it. He glanced at the brunette who was curled up on the other side of the couch, also sleeping, his head resting in Omi's lap. He still looked pale, but he was past the danger of his head injuries, and was finally recovering from what thankfully had not turned into full blown pneumonia. He would have never guessed, as Omi stroked soothingly over the dark hair, that there was nothing between the two besides brotherly affection, but Yohji knew that was a good thing. There was something in the small smile Omi graced him with when he caught Yohji's eye that suggested a change in Omi, something monumental, something more than the change they were all going through now, and that kind of change never boded well for a relationship. Yet, it was one of few smiles Yohji had seen in quite a while, and he hoped that whatever vague change he was sensing, it meant Omi was on the mend as well.

His attention was drawn back to Aya, red hair glittering even in the dim light as he sat up abruptly, a small sound escaping his throat. Aya looked around the room, gauging his surroundings, still not yet familiar with the safe house that Kritiker had relocated them to. Yohji knew the instant recognition struck; the pinch at the corner of Aya's eyes relaxed just the tiniest bit. That was the only telltale sign, and while any other would have missed it, Yohji noticed.

There wasn't much, after all, about Aya that escaped his attention, but he had managed to keep that little detail to himself, his own deep-seated fear getting the best of him.

Speaking of which, he was staring, and he shifted his focus so as not to be obvious, returning to the book in his hand. In his peripheral vision, he was aware of Aya getting up, leaving the room, then returning, having had no chance to actually go anywhere or do anything, but managing to bring Yohji's attention solidly back to him, as well as Omi's. He sat down, made to get up again, but then, apparently, made up his mind to sit. Leaning back, his back remained rigid, and there was clearly something wrong. While Yohji had left the man mostly to his own thoughts in the past days, he figured it wouldn't hurt just to be sure.

"Something wrong, Aya?"

Yes, something was definitely wrong. It was in his eyes, the tension in his body, the way his fingers were clutching at the edge of the armrest.

Aya shook his head.

"You sure?"

Aya nodded. Then, standing once more, he paused as if to say something, and, without saying it, fists clenched, left the room.

Ken stirred in his sleep.

"Wha?"

Placing a hand on his shoulder, Omi reassured him while casting his worried expression to Yohji, who was already halfway out of his chair.

"Don't worry, Chibi. I got it."

He had lost sight of Aya, but he could here his progress through the abandoned building. He was already out of the small common area they were sharing and moving quickly up the stairs. Yohji waited, silent, listening. Going up, there weren't many places he could be going, and Yohji wanted to make sure he was okay, not make him feel hunted. After a few minutes, Yohji's suspicions were confirmed when he heard the uppermost door open and slam back to the wall, and he started his own ascent to the roof.

Slowing down as he reached the top, he approached the door stealthily, very carefully turning the knob and opening the door with painful slowness, trying not to alert Aya to his presence. All he needed to do was see the man, affirm for himself that he was all right, and then get away without invading Aya's personal space. Maybe he just needed some fresh air, and confined to the building as they were, the roof was the only place that offered any bit of freedom.

Damn. Aya was nowhere in sight. Yohji slipped through the door into the inky darkness of the very early hours of the morning, making sure the door was unlocked before letting the knob slip back to its home position. The air was thick with moisture, and Yohji could smell the rain that would start falling soon. Putting all his talent to use, praying that he could somehow sneak under Aya's radar, he worked his way around the corner of the wall, carefully staying in the depth of the shadows while searching out and finding Aya in the dim light cast through the mist by the streetlamps below.

He was pacing at the edge of the roof, long, quick strides from one end to the other, punctuated by an angry turn at the end of each length, hands holding the sides of his head one second, crossed over his body the next, then clenched at his sides. He was, apparently, unaffected by the rain that began to drizzle down as he paced.

Yohji tensed as Aya came to a sudden stop and turned away, approaching the edge a bit too quickly for comfort. Aya couldn't be planning to do what it looked like, could he? Too far away to physically stop him, Yohji was a breath from calling out when Aya came to a sudden stop, extending long arms to lean on the parapet. He stretched out, bending over, hands braced on the concrete, and Yohji wondered if he was in pain, if he had some injury he hadn't admitted to. He stood up again, but his head was still hanging down, his shoulders…shaking.

Yohji realized, as a painful spike of sympathy ripped through him, that Aya was crying.

It was frightening, how silent the man was as the sobs shook him so violently he had to brace himself with his arms to keep his knees from giving out under him. Strange that after all these years, after all his strength and determination, he was breaking now, now that he had seen his ultimate mission complete.

He was sure the man had cried before; they all had at one point or another, but they had kept their pain private, never burdening the others, never letting the others see how deep the pain truly ran. This, however, was beyond private, and Yohji knew that he should leave Aya to his tears.

But he couldn't do it.

He didn't want to leave Aya alone, didn't want to leave him like this. Within his heart, a battle raged, a battle between protecting himself and risking everything.

Protecting himself would be safe. It would still hurt, but he would be able to live with it, as he had for quite some time now.

Risking everything would mean possible loss. He had certainly suffered loss before. This loss, however, he knew would destroy something within him that had somehow managed to survive.

Protect himself. Risk everything.

It wasn't his brain or his heart that made the decision. His body was already in motion, long strides sweeping over the tarry asphalt, uncaring of the noise he made now, until his outstretched hand rested on Aya's shoulder.

Aya whipped around at the contact, eyes wild within his drawn face. Regret over his decision rose immediately and threatened to choke Yohji; he should have protected himself. If Aya turned him away now, his heart would be as good as dead.

Then Aya's hands were fisted in the fabric of his shirt. Feverishly bright eyes, brimmed with tears that made them sparkle in the dim light, unashamedly met Yohji's imploringly, the tears overflowing to mix with drops of rain.

"She's awake." His voice was so deep, roughened by emotion.

Yohji wrapped his hands around Aya's wrists. His own voice was suspiciously raspy.

"Yes, Aya. She's awake."

His breath hitched painfully, and Aya gulped a breath.

"Safe. She's safe, isn't she?" His fingers clenched and unclenched in the folds of Yohji's shirt.

Yohji raised a hand to the man's cheek, cradling his head in his palm.

"Yes, Aya. She's safe."

His hand wrapped around Aya's head as Aya collapsed into his chest, the sobs taking control, wracking the man's body convulsively and finally finding a release in his voice as Aya raggedly screamed and gasped emotions much too long restrained into the night, into Yohji's chest, his arms wrapping painfully tight around Yohji's body.

If Yohji was even aware of the pain, he would never mention it. Carefully lowering them to their knees, he turned his face up to the heavens, letting the rain wash his own tears away as he clutched Aya to him just as tightly, irrationally afraid that if he let go, Aya might spin apart right before his eyes.

He lowered his face into hair that was turned the color of blood by the rain and darkness; he pressed his lips to the wet hair, whispering soothing, reassuring words, nonsense words, encouraging words, hoping that if Aya couldn't hear him, at least the sound, the tone, of his voice would help.

Time was not a factor. As long as Aya needed him, clung to him, Yohji held him, through the tears, the wrenching sobs, the painful grip, and the occasional hard thump of Aya's fist into his back. As it faded, Aya slumped in against him, totally drained, but quiet, the last tears washing away in the rain. Yohji looked down at him, palming his face, pushing the wet strands from his pale cheeks.

He would break, he knew, if Aya pushed him away now, but he would forever carry in his heart the honor that this man, who had stayed strong and focused for so long, had at least let him in for these precious few moments, had let him witness this pain, had let him hold him, offer him what comfort he could.

Giving in to impulse, he leaned in to place a firm, chaste kiss on Aya's cheek.

Aya turned his face up to Yohji. He looked exhausted. Vulnerable. Beautiful.

"Yohji." Barely a whisper.

"Shh, baby. It's okay. It's going to be all right now." He smiled down at him, nodding, still reassuring, even as he swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat as he anticipated the worst. He closed his eyes tightly, refusing the tears that threatened. It was unacceptable to spill selfish tears for his pain this night.

Aya reached up, pressing his fingers to Yohji's lips.

"Yohji." He repeated the name, his fingers tracing along Yohji's jaw. Opening his eyes, Yohji leaned into that simple touch, as he lowered his head to hear what Aya had to say. A tiny smile flickered across Aya's mouth, and then he raised himself to press his lips fleetingly to Yohji's, who pulled back slightly before sinking into another kiss, then another, hesitating each time to study Aya's face, to breathe in his scent, to savor the taste of him as his tongue licked away droplets of rain.

They moved slowly, deliberately, testing this new experience. Yohji felt Aya's arms slip around him, his hands sliding up Yohji's back, gently this time, and Yohji drew him into a tender embrace as the kisses grew more lingering, their mouths clinging as their lips gradually parted.

The screech of tires on the street below brought them back to reality, long honed reflexes tensing against the unexpected disturbance. Aya looked up at the sky as if he hadn't noticed it was raining, a shiver running through his lean frame.

Yohji pushed himself to his feet, silently offering his hand to Aya, who took it without hesitation, never taking his gaze from Yohji's face. He followed Yohji to the stairwell door, leaving his hand within Yohji's grasp. As they descended the stairs, Yohji caressed his thumb across the back of Aya's hand, then shifted his hand to interlace their fingers, thumb continuing it's smooth, circular caress.

When they arrived at Yohji's apartment, he reclaimed his hand to unlock the door, fully expecting the spell to break with their contact, but when he turned in the space of the open door, Aya was still standing at the threshold, as hesitant as Yohji had ever seen him.

Once again, Yohji extended his hand.

Hesitation gone, Aya took it, stepping into the small apartment, waiting as Yohji secured the locks, and then following him into the bedroom where Yohji left him standing in the middle of the room for a few seconds before returning with towels. One, which he had ruffled through his own hair, now rested on his shoulders, and he opened the other to do the same for Aya. Pushing the towel back, he caught Aya's gaze, and his hands stilled in their task as Aya wordlessly stepped into his embrace, and Yohji met the raised lips with his own.

As on the roof, Yohji was careful and considerate of the man in his arms, every touch, caress, and kiss more reverent than the last. There was a dream-like quality, as time seemed to extend, every movement drawn out into slow motion detail. He worshipped Aya's body, first with his hands, then with his mouth, reveling in every nuance; the taste of his skin, the feel of every contour under his fingers and mouth, every ripple of muscle, every scar, every small reaction, drowning himself in this man who had, until now, seemed untouchable and impossibly distant, but was now melting and writhing beneath him, whispering his name in between gasps and pleas, using steady, sure hands to guide and grip, pleasure overwhelming the earlier anguish.

And when, at long last, they surrendered to the intense demand that had built so naturally between them, Yohji introducing himself to Aya's body with easy thrusts, he did so with the same soul and heartfelt intent, desperate with every roll of his hips, ever deeper, with every breath-stealing kiss, with every sensual stroke of his hands along Aya's heated flesh, to prove his passion for this man, an all-encompassing passion too long denied and too long concealed. A passion he thought he would never be able to indulge and now knew beyond doubt he would not be able to live without.

This time, when Aya came apart in his arms, he was arching and screaming his name as a flood of wet heat gushed against their bellies. Crushing Aya to him, pressing his face into the sweet, damp skin of his neck, Yohji gave in to his own need, his own harsh cry reflecting his impassioned and desperate feelings as he poured himself into the man who now so thoroughly owned his heart.

Yohji remained awake long after he felt and heard Aya drift off. Resting his cheek against silken red strands, he extricated a hand to brush his own hair back from his face and lifted his head slightly to look down at the man who was so comfortably curled up in his arms as he slept, the lines of his face peaceful, a small smile on his lips even in sleep. He stroked the strands of hair back from the sharp facial features, and felt the tug of heartstrings as the man turned his face into his touch, nuzzling his palm.

After years of learning self-doubt in love the hard way, Yohji couldn't help but wonder what he would see in the deep lavender of Aya's eyes when he woke, couldn't help but worry that Aya would feel taken advantage of, that Aya would resent him, that there would be shame and disgust in those eyes. He looked out through the partially shaded window into the sky, just brightening with new light, contemplating the changes that were to come, how he would survive if his heart was left in shatters, unable to heal this final destructive blow. Finally, unable to fight the weight of emotional exhaustion, he once again let his head rest against Aya's and let sleep claim him.

When he woke, slightly disoriented, the first thing he focused on was that slice of sky through the window, a warm, sun-kissed blue that was now cloudless as far as he could see.

He was alone. His body knew the bed was empty, the warmth of the previous few hours absent. He dropped his head down into the pillows. How was he ever going to face Aya again? How would he explain? He couldn't apologize; he wasn't sorry. He could never proclaim his love after giving it this way and being rejected. His doubts crashed in on him, dangerously hammering at his exposed, helplessly fragile soul.

He should have been prepared for this.

He gave up his pillow, rolling onto his back, and opened his eyes at a slight, out of place sound in the room. Aya was standing beside the bed, pale skin practically glowing in the natural light filtering into the room, captivating eyes Yohji had come to love studying him intently. Yohji drew up his courage to meet that gaze unflinchingly.

"Aya." He managed to rasp out.

Aya nodded once in acknowledgement of his name.

"Yohji," he responded, raising his hands to gesture at the bed, at Yohji. "Was this…? Was this a one time thing?"

Vulnerable and hopeful. That's what Yohji saw in his face, heard in his voice, and his heart kicked heavily in his chest as he extended one hand to Aya.

"This," he promised solemnly, "is an as-long-as-you-want-it-till-forever thing."

He held his breath waiting as Aya remained still and expressionless for a heartbeat too long.

Then that serious nod of his head.

"Forever." He took Yohji's hand and came forward to crawl up on the bed with a small smile, gracefully tangling himself in Yohji. "That would be perfect."


End file.
